


Smoke Break

by quidamling



Category: Transformers, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quidamling/pseuds/quidamling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most people would peg Smokescreen as the best poker player on base. Most people would be surprised that is not <i>always </i>true - including Smokescreen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke Break

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Smoke Break
> 
>  **'Verse:** G1
> 
>  **Characters:** Smokescreen/Trailbreaker
> 
>  **Summary:** Most people would peg Smokescreen as the best poker player on base. Most people would be surprised that is not _always_ true - including Smokescreen
> 
>  **Rating/Warnings:** R, tactile romance between two non-gendered aliens that in English both get the pronoun "he"
> 
>  **AN:** Spontaneous Trailbreaker and Smokescreen smut. Yup, issa crack prompt given by some friends. (And Trailbreaker has an Australian accent because I based him off how an Aussie friend RPs him. Just in case people are confused.)

The problem with being far and away the best gambler in the base, was that sometimes pride forgot they _were_ called "games of _chance."_ Smokescreen growled, fighting the tell of his doorwings trembling slightly.

Frag Trailbreaker. Frag his damn visor… if the Datsun could crack through Jazz's poker face how come the damn truck managed to pull one over on him. And frag if the damn unassuming truck hadn't unassumingly nudged the stakes up into low-planetary orbit.

Smokey stared at Trailbreaker's hand, a beautiful high straight, and his own suddenly pathetic trip. He tossed the cards onto the tabletop with a disgusted buzz. "You were sitting on a hand that good? 'Breaker, I'm outta credits for another four cycles!"

The black mech's subtle, unassuming smile did not waver. "Mmm, ye-up." Trailbreaker tilted his helm, light sliding off his visor in a decidedly wicked fashion, but still the little grin. "Fair 'nough wit some other payment, mate."

Blue striped wings flared, their mech trying to determine if there had indeed been a purr over the word _'other.'_ "Yeah, TB," he glanced at the other players drifting off with little chuckles, leaving he and the Toyota to figure out the pot. "I'll transfer over the credits."

"She'll be right," Trailbreaker drawled, affecting the Aussie phrasing to match his accent. "C'mon," he said, standing and pushing on Smokescreen's shoulder. "Shift's early?"

"Nah, second shift tomorrow," the Datsun replied, standing and shutting down the lights in the rec room as they left.

'Breaker trailed him out of the room, just close enough that their energy fields brushed with the sway of their steps. By the time they had made it through the halls to the quarters wings, Smokescreen's doorwings were high and tense, his optics flickering over to the larger black mech as he tried to parse his companion's mood. But he was still cursing the mech's stupid, red, softly glowing…

"Yer starin', mate," Trailbreaker chuckled softly. The rally car couldn't manage to be mad at him, with that disarming voice.

"Oh, yeah. Well…" a topic, any topic. "Your visor's red, mech," Smokey blurted, staring at the keypad for his quarters. _What was his code again? Oh yeah._ He punched the code and the door swished open. "Red."

Trailbreaker shrugged one great shoulder. "Fit me better. What wit' the accents."

"Accents?"

The Toyota chuckled and gestured down to the lines of red highlighting his hips and thighs. Smokescreen followed the lines with his optics, and chittered suddenly when he was thumped up to the doorframe. His doorwings flittered against the paneling.

"Uh, 'Breaker?" Poker face be damned, the diversionary tactician had effectively been diversioned. He settled his hands on the black chassis, kneading lightly.

"Yeah?" The Toyota officially looked smugly victorious, now. "I mentioned somethin' 'bout other repayment," here he leaned down to nuzzle over the vents along Smokescreen's neck and shoulders. "Yer fans are runnin' high there, mech. "

"Uh?" _Damn, they were,_ Smokescreen realized. He shifted between the bigger mech and the wall. Then Trailbreaker simply dragged him into the quarters and slammed an elbow onto the lock. It sparked dimly. "Other-?"

"Ye-up." 'Breaker pinned Smokescreen hard to the wall with his chest, the Datsun whined until his doorwings were seated more comfortably. The Toyota made an apologetic hum and brushed the sensor panels lightly with one large hand.

Trembling in earnest now, Smokescreen panted through his intakes. He tried to slip aside but quickly felt the cold pressure of a forcefield wrapping around his frame, holding joints in place. His optics flared. "You're… 'Breaker?"

Chuckle quickly morphing into a growl, the defensive tech rumbled and nipped gently at neck cables. "Winner's choice, I think, right?"

Smokescreen warbled, aroused and yet a little distressed. His frame was responding to the strong hands working over his 'wings and chassis, the lips nibbling down his throat to his chest plating. He had never really considered Trailbreaker in that way, and the Toyota was surprisingly direct. "Alright," Smokescreen murmured, willing to see just what TB's processors had planned behind that seemingly devious visor. His legs went weak, but the forcefield held him in place, pinned like a butterfly to the wall. "But, TB- by the Pits… 'Breaker!"

Trailbreaker smirked, the red glow of his visor _definitely_ more appropriate on a 'Con, now. He lapped charge over the Datsun's chest, hands wandering down and beneath the plating of his flanks and hips. A little bit of pressure on a neural relay, a strong almost harsh tug on a fuel line, revving his engine hard against the blue mech's chest. It was too much, too fast, and the spike of being held there simply ratcheted up his reactions. Sparks were already starting to crawl across blue plating when the Toyota shifted his forcefields to _press_ , compressing the delicate sensor nets covering the two panels at Smokescreen's shoulders.

The chevroned helm whipped back with a high keening tone. Charge crackled between them as the Datsun was thrown into overload, just enough to tip Trailbreaker along with him. The blue mech sagged into large arms when the release trips the forces holding him in place offline.

Still, the laugh from the larger mech was disarming. Smokescreen whistled softly, frame shivering. Trailbreaker nudged at Smokescreen's cheekridge, then coaxed him to the berth and helped him settle.

Smokescreen heard his door slide open and watched the black shape outlined a moment by the light from the hall with fuzzy optics.

"No worries, mech. Think we're even," Trailbreaker purred as he padded out and keyed the door closed. Yes, this time it was _definitely_ a purr.


End file.
